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aslanti have been reading the new york times all morning and all afternoon long. my fingers are covered in ink and it is so so cold in here i keep going to the hallway when my cel rings to warm my fingers even though the hall stinks of vague chemicals. or nearly like apple juice. i can't tell anymore.
i cry here and there. a few sobs. i want to collapse but i'm exhausted. received email from j in nyc, l and r in noho. r's father a photographer with pataki today. a witness with a camera. the unthinkable scenes. dust, voids, terrors. unspeakables. breakables. the finite, the ordinary, the unconfined.
i have a terrible sorrowing anger at the world which continues as if it is possible to continue. as if it is possible. it isn't. i have an empty voice, an empty stare for the men at the door who come asking about things. nothing is adequate nothing sufficient.
descriptions of the aftermath, of ground zero, cordons and barricades and trucks full of debris and body bags. a man who was in this office just last week was on one of the flights. how i struggle to put a name to the face glimpsed on television. he is unrecoverable. a smudge of carbon on a fragment of something unseeable, unguessable. nothing that was something. absence in place of presence.
no words issue forth from the crater.
nothing yet known about my flight.
i cry here and there. a few sobs. i want to collapse but i'm exhausted. received email from j in nyc, l and r in noho. r's father a photographer with pataki today. a witness with a camera. the unthinkable scenes. dust, voids, terrors. unspeakables. breakables. the finite, the ordinary, the unconfined.
i have a terrible sorrowing anger at the world which continues as if it is possible to continue. as if it is possible. it isn't. i have an empty voice, an empty stare for the men at the door who come asking about things. nothing is adequate nothing sufficient.
descriptions of the aftermath, of ground zero, cordons and barricades and trucks full of debris and body bags. a man who was in this office just last week was on one of the flights. how i struggle to put a name to the face glimpsed on television. he is unrecoverable. a smudge of carbon on a fragment of something unseeable, unguessable. nothing that was something. absence in place of presence.
no words issue forth from the crater.
nothing yet known about my flight.
